Richard Barnfield
Richard Barnfield
Richard Barnfield was an English poet. His relationship with William Shakespeare has long made him interesting to scholars. It has been suggested that he was the "rival poet" mentioned in Shakespeare's sonnets.
"As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, Trees did grow, and plants did spring; Every thing did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone."
"Scarce had the morning starre hid from the light Heavens crimson canopie with stars bespangled, But I began to rue th unhappy sight Of that faire boy that had my hart intangled; Cursing the time, the place, the sense, the sin; I came, I saw, I viewd, I slipped in. If it be sinne to love a sweet-facd boy, Whose amber locks trust up in golden tramels Dangle adowne his lovely cheekes with joy, When pearle and flowers his faire haire enamels; If it be sinne to love a lovely lad, Oh then sinne I, for whom my soule is sad."
"The waters were his winding sheet, the sea was made for his tomb; Yet for his fame the ocean sea, was not sufficient room."
"Every one that flatters thee Is no friends in misery. Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find. Every man will be thy friend Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend; But if store of crowns be scant, No man will supply thy want."
"King Pandion, he is dead, All thy friends are lapped in lead."
"If music and sweet poetry agree. As they must needs (the sister and the brother), Then must the love be great twixt thee and me, Because thou lovst the one, and I the other."
"Next morning, when the golden sunne was risen, And new had bid good morrow to the mountaines; When night her silver light had lockt in prison, Which gave a glimmering on the christall fountaines: Then ended sleepe, and then my cares began, Evn with the uprising of the silver swan. Oh, glorious sunne! quoth I, viewing the sunne, That lightenst everie thing but me alone: Why is my summer season almost done, My spring-time past, and ages autumne gone? My harvests come, and yet I reapt no corne: My love is great, and yet I am forlorne."
"Of all the kindes of common countrey life, Methinkes a shepheards life is most content; His state is quiet peace, devoyd of strife; His thoughts are pure from all impure intent, His pleasures rate sits at an easie rent; He beares no mallice in his harmles hart, Malicious meaning hath in him no part. He is not troubled with th afflicted minde, His cares are onely over silly sheepe; He is not unto jealozie inclinde, (Thrice happie man) he knowes not how to weepe; Whilst I the treble in deepe sorrowes keepe. I cannot keepe the meane; for why (alas) Griefes have no meane, though I for meane doe passe."
